


Fear and Loathing in Florida (Mostly Loathing)

by minnabird



Series: Fear and Loathing [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Florida, Gen, Humor, Muggles, On the Run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnabird/pseuds/minnabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scabior and Greyback had to escape the Aurors somehow - they just hadn't expected to end up in Florida.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear and Loathing in Florida (Mostly Loathing)

**Author's Note:**

> written for round two of the 2012 Character Triathlon on MNFF.

This was one of the more ridiculous things I’d done, and I'd taken a Portkey to Florida to escape the Aurors.

Greyback was throttling the cashier, and he growled at me, “Grab the money, Scabior.”

I hastened to obey, stuffing a few small packets of crisps in my pockets as I passed the rack. The Muggle shop (7-Eleven, according to its door - stupid sort of name) was empty but for us and the cashier, but someone would probably come in soon. I emptied the till, pulling the crisp packets out of my pockets and putting the money in. I didn’t want to leave the crisps - I was  _hungry_  - so I pushed them back in right on top, even as Greyback glared at me impatiently. I held my hands up when I was done, and Greyback let the cashier drop to the floor. He lay there wheezing, and we ran.

When we finally stopped, in an overgrown empty lot with a sign announcing a house to be built there soon, I dumped the crisp packets on the ground and divided them between us. Greyback picked up one orange and red one and frowned at it. “What is this?” he said.

“Doritos,” I said, pointing at the name on the packaging, and he glared. “Um. Crisps. I think,” I amended quickly.

The rest of the crisps were just as odd - the Doritos were strong-flavored and powdery with the barest hint of spice, and the Cheetos were even more peculiar and left orange dust caked on our fingers, and I won’t even go into the Cool Ranch variety of Doritos.

I’m not sure how Muggles survive on this stuff. I hoped we got real food soon.

On the upside, we had some Muggle money, which meant we could pay a Muggle to take us farther and faster than our feet would. Unauthorized Portkeys weren’t traceable, but no honor among thieves and all that. The farther we got from where we’d landed, the better, just in case someone realized who we were and decided selling us out to the Ministry would be well worth it. Unfortunately, that meant Muggle transport, the very thought of which made me feel a little green around the gills.

Not to mention dealing with Muggles.

*

“Greyback,” I hissed.

Greyback ignored me. Big git. Why I decided to throw my oar in with him, I’ll never know.

Oh, right. I was desperate.

“ _Greyback_ ,” I whispered again, a little louder, my eyes glued to the humped shape in the water. He grunted and shifted, which I took to mean he was looking at last. “There’s a dragon in the water,” I said. I could hear my heart beating in my ears, and wondered suddenly if dragons had really acute senses of hearing. I glanced up at him, away from the scaly beast, and saw that his eyes were narrowed.

Behind us, raucous laughter sounded. I turned to glare at our...guide, for lack of a better word. He had a boat, anyhow, and had been willing to take our (stolen) money and ferry us through this swamp. Muggle money. Paying a Muggle. That was what we were reduced to.

The fact was, we were both wandless and stranded. I’d used the last of my reward money to get us an illegal Portkey anywhere as long as it was far from England, and we’d ended up in Florida.

The Muggle’s laughter finally stopped, and he said, “That’s an alligator.” I frowned. “Big lizard. Lots of teeth,” he said. “You really are far from home.” His voice took on an annoying mockery of a Cockney accent. “Lookit that thing! Must be a dragon! Never heard of no alligators, guv’nah.”

How  _dare_  that filthy Muggle speak to me that way! I jumped to my feet, and the boat swayed sickeningly. “Hey, watch it,” the Muggle said angrily, and I sat down with a thump, feeling a bit green.

I couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

*

I will say this for Greyback: he’s good to have along when you’re roughing it wandless. There really aren’t many wizards who can catch fish barehanded. But then again, that’s more the werewolf in him, I guess. And I know how to build a fire, so with the addition of a Muggle lighter, we’re all set.

Except one time when we first got here, he brought back a whole deer.  _That_  was gruesome. I do not want to repeat that experience.

But this was actually kind of nice. He was quiet, I was quiet. There was a lovely little fire, the smoke was holding off the mosquitoes, and the crickets and the cicadas actually sounded like soothing music rather than the nuisance they usually did.

You know, sometimes I actually thought I could get used to this.

*

The thing about Florida is that everyone’s lying when they say it’s always sunny and lovely there. It’s hot and wet and sticky, and if you think that sounds like a lovely sexual innuendo, it’s not. It’s Hell with a humidifier. And it rains a lot.

Take a week after we left the guide in the swamps behind. Lightning was striking practically overhead and I was stuck outside, jumping at every flash and thinking the next one was going to bring a burning tree down on top of me or hit me directly. We’d found a place to stay for the moment. It was full moon and we were fortunate enough to find an abandoned trailer still in pretty good shape, if a bit rusty.

I looked around uneasily. Just imagining Greyback loose in full werewolf form out here gave me the shudders.

Just then a loud sound rang out, like a girl’s scream.  _Just birds,_  I thought, hugging myself. Being soaked to the bone was sort of a relief from the heat, but I really wanted to be inside. I was used to the British countryside; Florida, not so much. There were so many sounds I wasn’t used to. It was hard not to be twitchy.

And then the howls started up from inside the trailer.

*

The thing is, without my wand, I’m just sort of weak. The other kids used to make fun of me at Hogwarts, actually. Scabby Scabior. That kind of thing. I’ve always been kind of scrawny, and while having been a Snatcher had sort of helped me with the being-on-the-run scenario (living rough is living rough, no matter which side of the equation you’re on, though I prefer being the hunter to the hunted), being wandless took that whole advantage away.

And then I ran into Greyback, and I thought, you know, we’re sort of colleagues, why don’t I strike up a deal. I had a little reward money left, he was...well, him. Big and scary and vicious. We both had something to offer. So we struck up a little partnership, and got the hell out of England.

I wasn’t too enthused with Greyback when I woke up after that full moon night, though. It had taken me forever to fall asleep, wet and on-edge as I was, and it was well into the next day when he woke me up with a kick to the ribs.

See? Great friend he is. I mean, not like he kicked me hard or anything, but Merlin’s knickers. I used the last of my money to get us that Portkey. Ingrateful bastard.

And then I discovered that not only did I have itchy insect bites in about a thousand places, but it hurt to scratch them because I was red as a lobster with sunburn.

Why does anyone ever come to Florida on holiday? It’s a nightmare.

*

So. This? This is not exactly the sort of life I envisioned when I volunteered to be a Snatcher. I thought, hey, year or so, lots of rewards, you can settle in and get a nice boring job somewhere to supplement it and live pretty well. Not the high life, but comfortable, like.

This is not comfortable. We’ve made it to a city, but it’s not like we can just find a job. I don’t want to deal with Muggles anyway, but we sort of have to to survive, and officially we don’t exist. We’re squatting in an old building with a bunch of smelly Muggles right now. I guess we’re pretty smelly and tatty ourselves, come to think of it. Not that I’m not used to it, but it’d be nice to look nice for a change.

So I guess as soon as we can figure out how we’ll go back to the kind of thing we were already. Thugs. Wrong side of the law. Emphasis on the former for Greyback, obviously. No magic, not unless we can manage to find the magical community and convince them to give us wands without giving us away to the Aurors. And if you think the war wasn’t sensational news for the rest of the wizarding world, you’d be mad. They’d hand us over in a heartbeat. Guilty consciences and all, for never stepping in.

Thanks, Potter. Thanks for everything. Real life-saver, you are.


End file.
